Review: Fantasy & Science Fiction, JAN/FEB issue

NOTE: I received a free copy of the new issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction in exchange for blogging my review.

There were two stories in this issue I loved: “Maxwell’s Demon” and “The Color Least Used by Nature.” Beautiful stories, delightful language and both haunted me long after I read them.

Below are my thoughts on each story. I don’t post overviews because I don’t want to give away the plot. I like to let the writer reveal the plot as s/he feels necessary for their story. That’s one of the joys of reading – discovering the plot as it unfolds.

“Small Towns” by Felicity Shoulders

I enjoyed this story a lot. I loved meeting the two main characters and imagining how they would come together was a lot of fun. However, the ending felt strange to me. It wasn’t as believable as I wanted it to be, but otherwise a really great story.

“The Comfort of Strangers” by Alexander Jablokov

This one was a lot of fun. I loved the originality of the premise. However, I wanted a driving goal for our main character, but she didn’t seem to have one. It was a series of events, wrapped up with a sufficient ending, but the drive wasn’t there for me. What did she want? How did she change over the course of the story?

“The Secret of the City of Gold” by Ron Goulart

A hard-boiled detective story with a fantastical edge. I’m not a huge mystery fan, and this story was fun, but not my cup of tea. It was well written and entertaining, but not terribly original.

“Maxwell’s Demon” by Ken Liu

My favorite of the bunch. I sympathized with Takako and went on the journey with her. The story was fascinating, the language was beautiful, and the ending left me wanting more. An engaging read with a great MC. Love, love, love.

“Scrap Dragon” by Naomi Kritzer

I really enjoyed the way this story was told, as if the reader was arguing with the writer on the direction of the plot. It brought me into the story, made me laugh, and I left like I was part of its creation.

“Umbrella Men” by John G. McDaid

I enjoyed this one. The idea was interesting and the writing kept me engaged. I found the beginning a little confusing, trying to figure out who was who, but in the end I thought it was entertaining.

“In the Trenches” by Michael Alexander

I felt the pain of war and the dreary tedium of living three years under the “booms.” I liked the kobold angle, but at times this one felt a little preachy to me. Still a great story.

“Alien Land” by K. D. Wentworth

A hilarious take on alien invasion. I loved the premise of this story and the bored housewives whose revulsion at the new neighbors turned to delight. A joy to read.

“Canto MCML” by Lewis Shiner

I liked this one, but I wanted more explanation. It was very short and it only touched the surface of what the story was about. I felt like an outsider, removed from the story and only privy to certain bits of information. I felt excluded from what was really happening.

“Mindbender” by Albert E. Cowdrey

This one was good fun. I enjoyed how the paths between the characters came together in the end. The characters were believable and their actions, while irritating at times, were on point. It was an entertaining story.

“The Color Least Used by Nature” by Ted Kosmatka

I also loved this story. I’ve been to Kauai’i twice, and the descriptions of the island and the ocean coincided greatly with my wonderful memories. It felt real and believable, and at times, I cried. Beautiful story and lush imagery. Very well done.

It Came From the Slush Pile

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Yesterday we had our MinnSpec slush pile meetup. Eric, Michael and I sat on a panel with our leader, Hilary, before an audience of writers as we crushed their poor hearts. At the end, some were visibly shaken, but most took it pretty well. No one shot at us, at least.

Each panel member voiced their opinions on 11 stories, posted anonymously. We discussed where we stopped reading each story and why. Some of it was pretty harsh to hear, but I think it’s important for writers to have this information, so I hope they use it to their advantage. You’re not likely to get this information from rejections these days (most use generic rejection forms).

Here’s the takeaway from our panel’s opinions:

Start your story in the right place

Many of the stories we read started in the wrong place with events or characters that weren’t integral to the plot. Some had prologues, which tend to have the opposite effect than writer intended (decreasing interest in the story rather than increasing it).

Opening lines and hooks matter

Many stories I read, I would have rejected within the first few paragraphs. I wouldn’t reject a story at the first line, but many gave me pause enough to make me doubt the story. That’s not a good way to start off a reading.

Embrace the power of your opening line. That first sentence can provide enough fuel to carry me through to the end of a story, even if the story isn’t that great. There was one story I read with an awesome first sentence. I was so excited to read that one. That’s exactly what you want to happen when you submit your stories.

We need to care

Don’t start in the middle of a action-packed scene if we have no idea who the characters are, because if we don’t care about them, we don’t care what happens to them. It’s action with no drama, and it bores the reader.

Action that doesn’t build plot

This is one I see in a lot of stories I critique as well. The character goes somewhere and does something normal with no consequences or goal in sight. A character is grocery shopping. Driving. Eating. Walking.
Your readers are bored.

Grocery shopping isn’t enough to keep interest alive. However, if your character is late for a job interview … and she needs to drop the baby off at a sitter … but the store is out of diapers … and now the baby’s just had an accident … and now her suit is ruined … but if she doesn’t get this job she’ll lose her house …

Adding a goal, obstacles and/or consequences will create a plot, not just a wandering character.

Tenacity and Thick Skin

Perhaps the most important ingredient in making a successful writer: tenacity. Michael told a story about writers he’d met who were far more talented than he, but they gave up after a few rejections. I gave up too, in college after professors complained about my writing, and only recently got back into it. I think we’ve all heard the stories about rejected authors making it big (JK Rowling), but understand that EVERY author has to deal with rejection. YOU WILL GET REJECTED. Your feelings will be hurt. It sucks.

Michael said he has over 1000 rejections in his writing career. But he didn’t give up, and he’s got over 80 published short stories, a novel and a few novellas under his belt.

Don’t give up. Keep working. Keep learning. Keep growing. You’ll get there eventually.

On Hatred

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HATRED.

This is a topic that’s been on my mind a lot lately.

I see it in politics. I see it in churches. I see it every day at work, while shopping, on the internet.

People hate a lot of things, but lately this hatred appears to be focused on homosexuality. It feels as if we’re in the middle of the civil rights movement of our generation, and twenty years from now, we’ll look back and wonder how people could be so passionately against gay marriage. I hope that is the case.

I love the “It Gets Better” videos and the powerful voices we are hearing against bullying and hatred. People are talking more openly about bullying and hatred, schools are trying to find ways to improve and protect students, but we can do better. We need to do better.

I read this today, and it really made me think about my life, my views on religion, and what I can do to make it better. Here’s what I can do: I can talk about it. I can be one of the many voices speaking out against HATRED.

Remember this:

You’re not better than anyone else. You can’t see into the minds of others; you can’t see their past and the obstacles thrown at them. You can’t read their inner thoughts or feelings to determine if they’re a “good” or “bad” person. But you can see yourself and how you treat others.

Let’s focus on yourself.

Christians, you aren’t a better Christian than anyone else. We all have our faults, but if you’re truly a Christian you know you have no right to judge anyone else. You’re supposed to love people, not judge them.

Let’s focus on unconditional love, charity, and the spirit of brotherhood that Christians preach.

Give people the benefit of the doubt. Assume they mean well, instead of assuming they are out to get us. Look at everyone with love in our hearts and show them that with our warm eyes and generous smile. Maybe even wave now and then (I know hugs are too much to ask of Scandinavians, you know).

Let’s focus on kindness.

Don’t worry about love. Love is awesome. Two consenting adults, looking each other in the eye, ready to spend their lives together — that’s a beautiful thing.

Let’s focus on the beauty.

Twenty years from now, I hope, we’ll look back and be ashamed at the members of our government who rose to publicity with hate speeches. We’ll wonder why anyone would support constitutional amendments that deny rights instead of protecting them, the same way we look back at the civil rights movement and wonder.

Let’s focus on what really matters.

LOVE.

Flash Fiction Challenge: The Evasive Existence of Ernestine Eaton

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My story for the TerribleMinds Challenge: An Affliction of Alliteration

The Evasive Existence of Ernestine Eaton

Ernie blinked out of existence just after lunch, when a stringy skirt steak and red pepper wrap sat like a dumbbell at the bottom of her stomach. Instead of sitting through hours of tedious unit testing with a painfully tight stomach, she disintegrated.

Ernie embraced the nothingness and basked in the glow of oblivion.

When she blinked back into her physical form, she was alone in her office. The lights were out and the hum of the furnace fan played rhythm guitar to her sliding yawn.

She tried logging into her computer but it wouldn’t accept her password. She shrugged, and wandered over to the break room to make a pot of coffee.

After filling up on caffeine, she left the building to find her car. Once outside, the bitter cold stabbed her skin, and she remembered her car keys were in the pocket of her jacket, hanging from her cube wall. She hopped back to the building while shivering in the subzero Minnesota winds, and angled her access card in front of the badge reader. The light blinked red. She tried it again to no avail.

Ernie pulled her phone from her pocket to call a cab and saw the voicemail icon with a red 12 circled in the right-hand corner. After accessing her voicemail screen and thumbing through the list of missed calls, she skipped over messages from her mother, her roommate, and a few from numbers her phone didn’t recognize. She listened to the messages from her boss, and realized she hadn’t been in the office for five days and had been fired.

Ernie’s heart sank. It was getting more difficult to determine the lengths of her vacations, and she’d overshot this one big time. She threw her phone to the ground and watched little fragments of plastic and metal scatter across the frozen sidewalk before she blinked out of existence once more.

When she rematerialized this time, it was warm outside. The sun lit her face and she pulled off her sweater and wrapped it around her thin waist. Her phone was gone, but she still had her wallet with twenty-two dollars cash. She walked to the corner, waiting for traffic to die down before she could cross, and nearly missing the number seven bus in the process. Thankfully the bus driver saw her flailing arms across the street and waited for her.

Ernie didn’t bother going back to her apartment in Uptown. Judging from the change in weather and the length of her restful sojourn, she’d been gone a long time. She went directly to her parents’ house in Plymouth, hoping for a nice homecooked meal. It felt like ages since she’d eaten, and now that tortilla-wrapped brick had dissolved, she was ravenous.

She entered the code on their garage panel, but the panel lights blinked and the door refused to budge. Frustrated, she stomped up their front walk and rang the doorbell. As she waited, she noticed a change in landscape surrounding their door, instead of the typical evergreen shrubs beside the porch and annuals in pots, there were rolling mounds of vibrantly colored flowers loitering around their front stoop.

When the door finally opened, a stranger stood beside it. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and Ernie could hear children playing in the family room.

“Yes?” the blonde said. Her body was turned so she could keep one eye on the kids and the other at the door.

“Um,” Ernie said. “I’m looking for my mother.”

The blonde’s eyebrows raised as the door inched shut.

“She used to live here,” Ernie said, wondering how long she’d been missing this time.

“Oh, wait, you’re that daughter. I’ve got an envelope for you somewhere.” The door shut behind her and Ernie twirled in a slow circle with her fingers in her pockets. She whistled as she stepped out onto the lawn and warmed her face in the bright sun. The door click open and Ernie turned to find the blonde back in the doorway.

“Your mother left this for you,” she said, and after she handed Ernie the envelope she shut the door. Ernie sat in the lawn, and wondered at the grass so green and perfect that it couldn’t possibly be real. She slid her fingers down one cool strand of grass, then sliced it in half with her thumb nail. It severed easily. She shoved the strand between her teeth and whistled a long loud shrilling note, then sucked on the grass while she opened the letter.

 

­­­­

Ernie crumpled up the letter and threw it on the lawn. She felt a shudder roll through her body and panic swept through her chest. She lay back in the grass, breathing in the smell of flowers and recently mowed grass, then sighed before dissolving once more into the blissful nonexistence of the void.

Eradicating Bad Slush One Day at a Time

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SFSignal’s Tidbits linked to my post, Slush Readers’ Advice for Writers, on their site today. It made me all kinds of happy, especially seeing my name on the same page as Chuck Wendig and John Scalzi. *fangirl sigh*

Thanks again to all the great advice from fellow Apex slushies!

With over 400 views in the past two days, I’m hoping this translates into some improvement in the quality of slush and general correspondence at Apex and other magazines. Writers, remember we are writers too, and we genuinely do want to help you. We’re not evil jerks hellbent on destroying your life, unless you disregard our guidelines and send us your unedited first drafts. Then you’ll suffer the wrath of our nasty rejection emails peppered with disgruntled emoticons and I know you don’t want that!

Also, you may have seen that Apex is looking for more slushies. Come, join us, and bask in the sickly greenish glow of the festering heaps of slush! Actually, some of it is pretty darn good. We live for the pretty darn good ones; they make it all worthwhile.

New Speculative Fiction Critique Group using Google+ hangouts

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For any writers on Google+ interested in joining a critique group, we’re still looking for members. We are restricting content to speculative fiction, and I personally prefer read short stories but we’ll accept any length work (with submissions kept to ~ 5,000 words per meeting).

We had our first session today and it went well, even though one member was unable to join us due to inclement weather and lost power. The hangout interface is intuitive and easy to use, and it’s nice to be able to talk over the critiques instead of trying to convey your thoughts over e-mail/online forums/etc.

We’ll be planning our next session for the first week in January, and then every three weeks afterwards.

Comment here if you’re interested in joining and I’ll be in touch.

Slush Readers’ Advice for Writers

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I’ve been a slush reader for Apex Magazine for over a year. My local speculative fiction writers group, MinnSpec, hosts monthly meetings on various writing topics, and this month, they asked me and two fellow members (Michael Merriam and Eric Heideman) to offer our advice for succeeding past the slush pile. If you’re in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area, the meeting is this Sunday at noon (but there’s a waiting list).

To gather a broad range of advice for this meetup, I solicited my fellow Apex slushies and they were more than happy to oblige. After gathering together all their correspondence, I present you with their valuable advice (and mine).

General advice

My advice to writers boils down to two major points: Be professional, and do your homework. Everything listed below is a variation on those two themes.

1) Publishing is a business. Publishers want to publish the best content, not just good content.

“There are a lot of decent stories out there.  You have to better than all of them to get on the short list.  And then you have to be better than everyone on the short list to get published, or at least you have to be exactly what the editor is looking for, or what caught the editor’s eye.”

Submission guidelines at Apex Magazine from Catherynne Valente, our former Editor-In-Chief:

“We do not want hackneyed, clichéd plots or neat, tidy stories that take no risks. We do not want Idea Stories without character development or prose style, nor do we want derivative fantasy with Tolkien’s serial numbers filed off.

What we want is sheer, unvarnished awesomeness. We want the stories it scared you to write. We want stories full of marrow and passion, stories that are twisted, strange, and beautiful. We want science fiction, fantasy, horror, and mash-ups of all three—the dark, weird stuff down at the bottom of your little literary heart. This magazine is not a publication credit, it is a place to put your secret places and dreams on display. Just so long as they have a dark speculative fiction element—we aren’t here for the quotidian.

Keep in mind that the search for awesome stories is as difficult as writing them. If you are rejected, don’t get angry—instead, become more awesome. Write something better, and better, until we have to accept you, because we have been laid low by your tale. It really is that simple.”

I love this quote. Become more awesome. That’s your job, writers.

2) Here’s the key to a successful story. Hook us at the beginning and keep the momentum building until the climax. At the end, we need to feel the connectedness of the beginning, middle and end, and have a sense of closure. Most of the slush I read is strong at either the beginning or the end, but not both. You need both.

a) Hooks

This is where the majority of stories fail. I’m a curious person, so I’ll read or skim a story to see where it goes, even when I know I’ll reject it. Sadly enough, I reject most stories before the end of the second paragraph, either from an uninteresting beginning or bad writing.

“Your job as a writer is to hook the reader from the first sentence and never let go.  If you can’t do that, then you’re not the person for the job.  There is no “keep reading, it gets better, you’ll like it…” in a short story.  Maybe in novels, but not in short stories.”

b) Endings

Endings are the problem child of writing. I read so many stories with promise that fail with a bad ending. I’m not looking for a happy ending (I read dark fiction…most endings are not happy), but I need closure. Give me something at the end that concludes the journey you’ve taken us on, yet leaves us wanting more. It’s difficult, yes, but it is so important. I hate rejecting stories I read all the way through, only to deal with an unsatisfying ending. It makes me angry with the author for getting invested in a story that goes nowhere.

“Surprise endings stink. I don’t mean endings that surprise, but endings in which the whole story is leading up to a “big reveal”–like the “and then she woke up” or “all the people are actually plants!”–it typically makes the entire story dull, which means most editors may not even make it to the “big reveal”, and sadly, the “surprise” at the end is almost always the more interesting idea, where the story should have STARTED, not finished (as in the case of the plant people, for example). It’s like the author had this awesome idea but was too scared to write/explore it, so they tucked it away at the end so they wouldn’t have to. Surprise endings are fun in Twilight Zone–not so much in written stories. (Of course, there are exceptions, but it’s very, very hard to pull off.)”

I hate surprise endings, too. I find them gimmicky and immature.

3) Voice and POV

“If you sound like everyone else, then the only way you’ll get the job is if you are better than everyone else.  If you sound like you, then your chances greatly improve, as long as your story is decent to begin with.  The novelty and individuality of your voice, as a writer, is what makes readers read your stories rather than someone else’s, especially with short stories.  You can be less than a perfect writer if you sound like an individual instead of a cookie cutter.”

Yes. I’ve sent stories on to the editor that weren’t perfect, but I loved them for the voice. Voice can carry a story.

“Point of View and narrative style makes a huge impression…the way in which a story is told can carry a huge amount of unspoken information that can increase the realism of your story and also convey a lot of background without actually having to talk about it openly.”

4) World-building

We’re speculative fiction writers, so world-building is a necessity. Do your research, especially when writing science fiction. Don’t bog down your story with unnecessary details just to prove how much science you know, but provide just enough to make your story sound plausible.

“Plausible story lines and science go a long way.”

“Take time to world-build your short story. It makes a huge difference when the story takes place in a world that jumps off the page with life, even though you’re only seeing a tiny slice of it. I’ve always tried to describe it like this: a short story is a window into another world (realistic or totally imaginary), and that world lives and continues before and after you put the story down. Those characters go on to do other things, they have elaborate histories, the world exists without the reader, but the reader can visit for the duration of the short story. This is true for stories set in modern-day and those set in far-away worlds. You don’t have to personally know every detail–just enough to hint that a much bigger picture exists outside the scope of the story.”

“World-building owns. Just look at Avatar. One of the crappiest sci-fies of the last decade, but they built the world well (beastiality not withstanding) and so everyone ignored the Pocahontas with aliens plot and the on-the-nose Iraqi Oil referencing ‘Unobtanium’. If there is no world-building in spec-fic, there is no world. We can’t refer to the inside of your skull whenever we don’t get something – Why is he flying, again? Hang on, I’ll just check Mikhail Bakhtin Junior’s head. Oh, okay, so everyone uses cybernetic augmentation implants in this world because they can’t be bothered going to the gym? Now it all makes sense. This is an impossibility.”

5) Tropes, Clichés and other Bad Ideas

Read within your genre and avoid writing ideas that have been beaten to death.

You can find a list of SF tropes and overused clichés here: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SpeculativeFictionTropes

My personal pet-peeve: CANNIBALISM. At one point, 30% of the slush I read focused on cannibalism. The only quote of mine I’ll offer from our group email session:

“Is it just me, or do we get an awful lot of cannibalism stories? There is more to dark fiction than eating your neighbor/girlfriend/mailman/high school science teacher. UNCLE!”

Please, no more cannibalism stories. Instant rejection.

“Don’t vomit on the page. Prose pieces consisting of nothing more than gore, grue and delicate prose about flash-frozen body parts make me queasy, especially since I often read slush whilst eating lunch. I once read a cannibalism story about a groom who gobbled up his bride on their wedding night. It was about ten pages of visceral description, starting w/ the fingernails and going on from there. The piece frightened me, in that I was afraid the author might try to hunt me down and kill me when he got the rejection letter.”

“I agree that we see a lot of lovingly depicted cannibalism, which rarely contributes to the quality of the narrative, and that child abuse is frequently not handled with effect or with purpose. To these approach-with-extreme-caution elements, I’d like to add spousal abuse and subsequent revenge (regardless of which spouse abuses which), and, though it seems a cliche of “Things that Turn Us Off in Submissions” lists, rape as cheap trauma bears mentioning again.”

Avoid stories regarding priests and boys. You wouldn’t believe how many of these I’ve read and I never want to read another one. Instant rejection.

Avoid dream sequences, especially beginning a story with a character waking from a dream (or an odd sequence of events before waking from a dream). Cliché. Instant rejection.

6)  Don’t Preach

The moral/theme of the story should be subtle. It should come across naturally through action and characterization.

“Don’t write morality fables. Here’s how it goes: the author creates a character with one personality trait, always bad, and then kills him/her off in an ironic way. Example: Jack is a miser. One day when he’s walking to work he gets hit with a falling bank safe. He dies and goes to Hell. The End. The slush pile is full of these gems. A nasty streak of morality runs through many of the slush pieces I’ve read, some of which are nothing more than tarted-up power fantasies (the author gets to play God/The Grand Inquisitor/judge, jury, executioner/take your pick). I don’t like reading stories that punish people for making bad life choices, as I’ve made more than a few myself.”

“Ditto regarding the morality fables. I’d like to branch off the life choices/character traits, though, and mention stories that function as political or philosophical screeds. It makes to difference to me as a reader, and certainly not as an editor, whether I agree with the screed or not. No one is buying Apex Magazine for hamfisted preaching. The worst is hamfisted preaching that’s also objectively ignorant of its own subject matter. While many, maybe even most, great stories are written with some purpose beyond the words themselves, writers will add no one to their cause by beating readers over the head with it. Especially beating them over the head with poorly informed version of it.”

7) Beware of Mary Sue

You know why writers mock Twilight. Most slush readers (if not all) are writers. Don’t Twilight your story.

“I find Mary Sue Mouthpieces, or characters who represent all the writer deems good and perfect but now persecuted by an evil and intolerant society or setting, to be very offputting, the most so as protagonists. It’s by no means a bad idea for any character to be a self-righteous professional victim, but it’s much more interesting to see these flaws acknowledged and handled as such.”

8) Falling in Love

Here’s something many writers don’t understand about slushing. We put our reputation on the line when passing your story on to our editors. For that reason, I need to love a story, not just like it. Make us fall in love with your story, and we’ll have no qualms about passing it on. In order to do that, you need to make us feel something.

“Make me feel something to the point where I can’t help reacting: get me laughing out loud, crying, hair standing on end, gaping with the slow unfolding of horror as I realize that things weren’t as I thought they were, beaming as two people fall in love…”

9) Use your Resources

The internet is out there, people, and it sure is useful. Most publishers have a website, blog, Facebook account, Twitter account, Google + account, etc. They post helpful suggestions, gripes, and other useful information, all publicly available for you to peruse.

You can also find the names of editors and contributors on most publishers’ sites. Follow them online. Find authors you admire and follow them too. They also post lots of helpful information.

Network with other writers. Attend writers groups, critique groups, conventions, etc. Follow other writers. Learn from their mistakes and their successes.

There’s a great big world wide web out there. Use it.

10) Keep at it

In this industry, perseverance is key. There is an element of chance when submitting stories. Maybe the slushie reading your story hates talking animals (a lot of them do). Another slushie at the same publisher may love it, and maybe even the editor, but it won’t get past that first slushie. That’s the pits. You can keep sending it out to other markets and hope it finds a home, or edit the story to make it even more awesome. Just keep at it, and you’ll get there eventually.

Technical Gripes

Slush readers find certain flags that signal a writer’s lack of experience. Avoid these if you can. One or two mistakes in the entire story won’t necessarily mean a rejection, but a few in the first two paragraphs will.

This is a short list, but there are many more of these that you’ll probably find on editors’ blogs and tweets.

Learn your craft and join a critique group, because most publishers will not provide feedback with rejections. It’s up to you to improve your writing and find out what’s not working.

  • Typos. Your story doesn’t have to be perfect, but it should be close. No more than 2-3 maximum.
  • Starting off sentences with: “It was,” “There was,” etc.: “Now, dude got away with it with “It was a dark and stormy night,” but come on, that’s classic and shouldn’t be bothered with, right? When I see a story start out like that, I start grinding my teeth. Too, if numerous sentences start out with “It was”, then I just think, “lazy writing” and pass on to something else.”
  • “’It was as if’ – No, it wasn’t. Either something is or it isn’t”
  • “’Suddenly’ – My eyes and ears bleed”
  • Foreign languages and terminology: “An offshoot of being informed: I know enough Spanish to recognize when it’s incorrect. My fellow slushers can read other languages as well. A multilingual story, if it involves languages with which the author is not highly familiar, should be checked over before submission by a reader who is.”
  • Focusing on unimportant details: “I’ve read a lot about women in curve-cupping dresses whose “glowing red/raven black/creamy blonde har falls to her shoulders in gentle waves etc.” It’s actually the phrase ”falling to her shoulders” that appears over and over and over again in the slush pile, and it grates on me more and more. I mean, hair falling to one’s shoulders is nothing special. Heck, my hair falls to my shoulders, and while I have quite nice hair, it certainly doesn’t bear waxing purple about.”
  • Rank is no substitute for characterization: “Broader but still nitpicky, I personally tend to drift off during spaceship/submarine/military stories, as characters’ titles often substitute for traits and I lose track of who’s who and who’s got what motivation. It’s vital to establish these people by distinctive and interesting characteristics rather than by rank: rank doesn’t make the story.”

Be Professional

“Submitting a short story is a job interview.  Be 100% professional – follow directions and edit to as near perfection as you can get it. You’ll never get a job because someone feels sorry for you; you only get the job if you beat out the other applicants.”

1) Read the Submission Guidelines

If you don’t follow the guidelines, it’s an instant rejection. Submission guidelines will be posted somewhere. Find them and follow them. Do your homework.

“Always, always read the submissions guidelines. If the publication asks you not to do something, then don’t do it in an attempt to look cute and stick out from all the other slush. It doesn’t work.”

a) Cover Letters

i. Include a Cover Letter

“Not including a cover letter. That drives me straight up a wall. Even if all it says is, ‘Dear Editor, Please consider my (piece) for submission in your publication,’ that’s better than no letter at all.”

ii. Content of the Letter

“Cover letter trying to be humorous and failing badly – Personally, I don’t feel humor has any place in a professional cover or query letter.”

“Don’t send long-winded garbage about every story you ever wrote, and don’t send half-sentence emails in text-speak, or your title and word-count alone. Aim for something in the middle – who you are, why you’re emailing, story name and word-count and last few notable publication credits. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOUR CAT’S NAME IS, SO DON’T TELL ME!”

“Don’t editorialize in your cover letter. I’ve had people tell me that their piece was great (THIS STORY IS TEH AWESOME!); conversely, a few folks have told me their story sucks. In the first case I didn’t believe them, in the second I was more than willing to take them at their word.“
iii. Addressing Cover Letters

“Poorly addressed cover letters – ie, those submissions which come to a specific editor. When you submit directly to a specific editor, your submission is forwarded to the actual submissions pool”

b) Submitting the Right Content to the Right People

Apex slush is full of gruesome horror stories. If you read Apex Magazine, you’d be hard-pressed to find any straight-up horror. Yes, Apex accepts horror, but it better be horror with some science fiction or fantasy added to the mix. Apex won’t print your literary version of the Saw movies. The current issue is always free online. No excuses.

Many other publishers have free content online, or can be purchased cheaply. Go to libraries or borrow books from other writers. Find work similar to yours and see who published it.

Use duotrope.com or ralan.com to find the right publisher for your work. Duotrope also has functionality for tracking your submissions.

“I did once get a full book manuscript from a YA agent about two teenage kids who fall in love. No SF. No dark. I think I might have been a little rude to her… Don’t quite remember… :)”

“Do not send absolutely fantastic stories to magazines that don’t publish in those genres. You could be the next Dan Brown, but submitting page-turning thrillers to philosophical science fiction magazines won’t get you published.”

c) Word Count

“It helps submissions readers greatly if you place your word count on the top of your story along with your contact information. Even an “approximate” word count helps us out. Sometimes when we’re reading, we don’t have time to read a 7k story but we can a 2k story.”

d) Addressing Submissions

“Don’t email directly to a slushy when the magazine has a submissions address or system – it is very unprofessional, causes them more hassle than they’re willing to go through for an unfamiliar name on their computer screen and just plain-ol’ pisses them off.”

“It’s probably improper to address a submission to a specific person. We have several folks who read stories. “Dear editor” works nicely in this case.”

UPDATE: Some people are very confused on addressing submissions to editors. The email address you use must be correct. However, in cover letters many publishers prefer you address a specific editor to show you’ve done your homework. The particular editor above (at Apex) prefers the generic address since we have a slush team. Unless it is stated on the submission guidelines, don’t worry so much about which one is correct. I doubt anyone will reject your submission because you said “Dear Editor,” instead of addressing a particular editor.

e) Contacting the Editor(s)

Send submissions to the address specified by the publisher. Send any inquiries to this address as well (only if past the timeline stated by the publisher). Don’t contact the editor/slush reader directly.

“Don’t reply to rejections. Just don’t. If your story has been rejected, it means that it was either not good enough for the magazine, or not what the magazine was looking for (like submitting a brilliant western story to a horror magazine).”

“I’ve gotten some very snarky responses from authors before. Only advice: don’t do it. It only hurts the author, not the publisher.”

f) Submitting Files

“Do not paste your story into the body of your email. It is an instant rejection and not helpful to anybody.”

2) Don’t Be a Jerk

The most important part of “Be Professional.” It’s sad that this even needs to be mentioned, but believe me, you don’t want to be remembered for the wrong reason.

a) Badmouthing Your Publisher Online

An author was scheduled to be published, and paid, by Apex Magazine until she badmouthed the magazine and it’s owner online. Don’t do this. Google Alerts will unearth these accusations and notify the mentioned parties.

b) Hostile Correspondence

The reason I no longer provide personal feedback on the stories I slush: too often I get attacked from writers responding to my comments. It takes time and energy for me to write those comments, and if they’re not appreciated, I’m not going to bother. And if I get harassed…now you see why I avoid personal contact at all costs. DON’T REPLY TO REJECTIONS. If you’re angry and need to vent, follow these simple steps: draft angry letter to publisher, then delete it.

c) It’s a Small World After All

Everybody knows everybody. Even if you’re not posting an angry rant on your public blog, be careful what you say and to whom. A convention is not a good time to trash the publisher who rejected your latest masterpiece. Lots of editors attend conventions. Make friends and be nice. EVERYBODY LOVE EVERYBODY.

On Slush Reading

Publishers advertise for slush readers on occasion. It’s usually unpaid, and depending on the publisher, workload demands can vary. At Apex, we are asked to read 5 stories per week. I’ve heard Clarkesworld slushies read 5 per day.

I highly recommend any writer read slush for a while. It’s an eye-opening experience, and it gives you a good feel for the quality of writing necessary to get published. (There’s a reason why big name writers get published, and it’s not only due to their fan base. Their work really is that much better.)

Thoughts from Apex slushies:

“I found that one writer’s group thought this was interesting: Slush editors have lives of their own, and more often than not don’t get paid to do this, and squeeze it into our schedules between our own day-jobs, kids, family, school, and our own writing time. We do it for the love of a great short story, and when we find one, there’s no better feeling in the world than seeing it get published in our magazine. It’s like a little mini-win for us, too, when an author gets a YES rather than a NO.”

Yes! We love to find stories we can’t wait to publish. It’s almost as good as publishing your own work.

“If you can get a slush job, do! There’s nothing better for teaching you what works and what doesn’t in short fiction.”

Agreed, especially on the “what doesn’t work” part.

Recently, Cat Rambo recommended slush reading on Google+. If you don’t know Cat, she’s an amazing writer and editor so maybe her advice holds more weight than mine. You can find her blog here: http://www.kittywumpus.net/blog/

Many thanks to the following editors/slushies for your valuable input:

Katherine Khorey, George Galuschak, DeAnna Knippling, Sigrid Ellis, Zakarya Anwar, Maggie Slater and Mari Adkins

Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challange: Corporate Abuse

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Find the challenge details here: Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: Corporate Abuse

La Vie en Rose

Gilles had been hunting for hours. Caroline wrapped the ragged fur around her shoulders and cupped her hands in front of her mouth. Her breath did little to relieve her frozen fingers. She stared longingly at the fireplace, but only a few logs of firewood remained and they couldn’t be wasted during daylight.

Caroline’s rubbed her swollen, growling belly and persuaded herself to remain optimistic. There was food, Gilles just had to catch it.

She heard a bark outside, and peered out over the crumbling windowsill. A German Shepard, strong and muscular, stood outside the house. Her heart raced as she climbed to her feet. The dog was healthy, well-fed. It had a food source. Caroline smiled and opened the door.

The dog ambled in and sat by her feet. She knelt down to pet him. He sniffed at her fur and balked. He knew what kind of fur she wore. She threw it across the room and fell to her knees. The dog sniffed her hair, then licked her cheek. She wrapped her arms around him and said, “I’m sorry. Toby was a good boy, but we had no choice.” The dog’s soft fur was a harsh reminder of the pain of losing her dog, and what they did to him after he died. Gilles said his fur should remind her of his noble sac

Tears trickled down her cheeks.She wrapped the pooch in her arms rubbed his back. It felt so good to be close to something, to feel another heartbeat contradicting her own steady rhythm. The dog closed his eyes and licked her throbbing fingers.

An hour went by before Gilles returned with a rabbit over his shoulder. Caroline screamed in delight, scaring the dog from her arms. He barked in wild circles around Gilles, who kicked him away with his boot.

“Looks like I’m not the only one providing dinner tonight,” he said.

Caroline’s face went red and she burst into tears. “I won’t let you eat him,” she said. “He’s healthy, look at him.”

“You think this fox is going to feed us? We’re dying, Caro.”

“I know,” she sobbed, “but I’d rather die than kill him.”

Gilles raised his eyebrows, but kept his mouth shut. He built a small fire in the hearth, then skinned and spitted the fox above it. The beady black eyes followed Caro around the room, like Toby’s blank eyes boring into her soul as they roasted his flesh. Caroline shuddered.

“Promise me you won’t kill the dog,” she said, staring deep into his eyes.

Gilles nodded, then said, “I promise” in a low growl.

She sobbed again, and sank into the dog’s warm fur.. Gilles sang to her as the fox cooked, “La Vie en Rose,” and Caroline dreamed of a perfect life in pink.

#

Gilles had been right, the rabbit did little to fill their bellies, but the warmth of the fire brightened Caroline’s mood. When she woke, the crystals collected in Gilles eyelashes twinkled in the bright morning light.

She rubbed her hands across the taut skin on her belly. Her stomach was so hard and dense, like it was made of bone. Maybe it was strong. Maybe it would survive.

She shook her head. She mustn’t think such thoughts. It would likely die, so there was no reason to become attached. It was not a person, just a growth that would be removed in time.

She turned to find Gilles studying her from their nest on the living room floor, with a strange smile on his face. He stood in front of her and ran his hands down her stomach, then met her gaze with tears forming in his eyes.

“Boy or girl?” he whispered. “Do you feel him move?”

“Gilles, don’t.”

He nodded, steaming tears releasing from his frozen lashes, then he disappeared out the back door. Caroline searched for the dog, but he was no where to be found. She wrapped herself in the furs, and waited for them to return. Gilles returned just before dusk dragging a large skinned animal behind him, its blood smearing a ghastly trail through the house.

“What is that?” she said with a tightening throat.

“A wildcat. I found it in the woods.” Gilles pulled out the animal’s innards and placed them on a roasting pan over the fire. The smell of the burning flesh made her mouth water, but her stomach churned.

“Where’s the dog?” Caroline focused on his face, to see if he was lying, but he kept his eyes on the the knife in his hand.

“I don’t know, Caro,” he said. “I thought he was with you.”

An accusation was forming on her lips when a sharp pain jolted her. She felt warmth between her legs and looked down to see a pool of bloody mucus by her feet.

Gilles rushed toward her. “It’s coming?” Caroline cradled her belly as the first contraction hit. Gilles carried her to their nest, then dumped their only remaining logs of firewood onto the fire and knelt by her side.

After hours of labor, cursing Gilles and God and everyone in-between, the arrival of their son was announced by his high-pitched wail. Caroline couldn’t contain her happiness. She laughed and cried and nuzzled the sticky, slimy infant against her breast. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect creature. She never knew she could be this happy.

Caroline fell asleep with her son cradled in his arms.

#

When she awoke, it was dark, and Gilles and the baby were gone. Caroline called out for Gilles, but there was no response. She stumbled to her feet, clutching her sore stomach and screaming for her husband. The fur fell from her shoulders and her heart sank. The baby was gone. Did he die? He must’ve been weak. Malnourished. Maybe Gilles was burying him now. Or worse, maybe he wouldn’t bury him after all.

She screamed a fierce guttural cry. Gilles couldn’t – he wouldn’t – not his own son.

A loud knock on the door scared her out of her skin. She waddled to the door and held her face to the wood. “Who’s there?”

“Good evening, Ms. Armand. I’m with the HumaniTEE Corporation. Your husband invited me here to enroll you in our LifeSource program.”

“Gilles, where is he?” She pulled the door open to find three people in haz-mat suits outside. Caroline struggled to understand what was happening, but the loss of blood from labor coupled with fatigue discombobulated her mind.

“Your husband sacrificed himself to ensure a future for you and his son. His donation should give you comfort.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He hated you people. That’s why we left.”

“Ms. Armand, you left because your husband lost your job, and without a job you are not entitled to the benefits of living in a city.”

“He lost his job because he refused to torture and murder people in the name of science. And these benefits you’re withholding, they’re entitlements. Every human being is entitled to food, water and shelter. You’re treating us just like you treat your donors, torturing us until we die of starvation or exposure.”

The woman in the suit shook her head. “Ms. Armand, if you ever wish to see your son again, you will come with us. Your husband is gone. He is all you have left.”

After Caroline collapsed, they dragged her into a van. She’d have a life now, and a home in the city to raise her son. But at what cost? How could she bear to look at her son, knowing the price his life had cost?

Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: Five Words, Plus One Vampire

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Here’s this week’s challenge rules: “Five Words, Plus One Vampire”

A bloated insect lay upside-down at the bottom of Bryn’s beer bottle. After he vomited into the metal trash can beside Dana’s desk, he slumped back into his chair with a green-faced frown.

“You knew there was a cockroach in that beer, didn’t you?” Bryn said.

Dana’s thin lips strained into a smile like a taut rubber band, and she nodded.

Bryn returned a gesture of his own.

“This isn’t a cockroach,” she said as she tilted the lamp shade forward to illuminate the bottle. “Triatoma Sanguisuga, otherwise known as the Eastern Blood-sucking Conenose. I’m surprised you finished your drink without swallowing it,” she said with a nervous giggle. She rose from her chair and extended the bugged beer bottle toward Bryn.

“You wanted me to swallow the bug?” Bryn’s stomach churned.

Dana shook her head. “I want you to swallow it.” She rattled the bottle in front of his face.

“You’re crazy, I’m not eating a dead bug.” Bryn stood up too quickly and lost his balance. He tumbled over the chair and landed with a crunch on the floor. He screamed at the sharp pain in his ankle, and curled his arms around his injured leg.

Dana leaned over him and tapped the bottle against his skull.

Bryn looked up in disbelief. “What the fuck? Call an ambulance, I broke my damn leg.”

She shook her head. “Swallow the bug, then I’ll make the call.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

Dana shrugged.

Bryn leaned back cautiously and slid his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He shouted profanities at her while he eased his phone out, then dialed 911 with a triumphant smile.

The call ended before the first ring. Dana ripped the phone from his hand and threw it at the wall where it smashed into chunks of glass and metal.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Bryn shouted.

“Swallow the fucking bug,” she hissed.

Bryn grabbed the bottle from her hand and raised it over his open mouth. He felt the bug land on his tongue and grimaced at the crunchy, bloody mess in his mouth before swallowing with an exaggerated gulp. “Happy now?” he groaned. “Call the damn ambulance.”

“You don’t need an ambulance,” she said as she slid back into her oversized leather chair.

Bryn threw the bottle at her head, but flinched in surprise when he heard it shatter on the wall directly behind her head. With the trajectory it flew, it should’ve hit her between the eyes.

“How the hell -”

She smiled, then leaned forward in her chair. “You’ll be fast too,” she whispered. “Check out your leg.”

Bryn pulled his pant leg up to reveal a normal looking leg. No signs of swelling or bruising. “How?”

“The bug. Let’s just say, you have all the benefits of a certain blood-sucking monster, without any of the drawbacks.”

“Wait – are you saying that I’m a – vampire?”

“Don’t say that word,” Dana hissed, and her head swung back and forth as if a tennis ball had volleyed across the room. She held a hand up to silence him and they both froze for a few tense minutes. Then she relaxed and curled up beside him. “You never know if one might be listening. Just make sure you don’t use that word.

“Who’s listening -” he said, but she cut him off.

“Shut up and listen to me. You have unbelievable speed and agility, the ability to heal from any wound, and superior hearing and vision. Maybe some other perks as well, but you’ll have time to figure those out later.”

“So can I got outside or-”

“Yes, sunlight is fine. You’re not dead, like them. You’re just – different. Better.”

He ran a hand over his head, noticing his receding hair line had grown back a few inches. He stared at Dana in awe. “So the bug did this to me?”

“The bug fed on one of them. Don’t ask me any more, I can’t tell you anything. But we’re even now, okay? I don’t owe you anything.”

Bryn nodded. “Yeah, sure. Your unpaid tax documents have disappeared. No audit.” He stood up and brushed off his pants. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would’ve swallowed the damn thing.”

“Just promise me you won’t tell anyone about this,” she said, extending her hand out to him.

He shook it and chuckled. “Yeah, sure Dana. Thanks, I guess.”

She ushered him toward the door. “You’re welcome. Now get out of here and don’t ever come back.”

He stopped before opening the door, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Am I in danger?”

“Of course not,” she said as she flashed him an overly-bright smile. “Just keep our little secret and we’ll all be fine.”

He nodded, then walked through the door of her office to the hallway outside. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as the sound of his footsteps reverberated through the empty hall. At the end, he opened the door to take the stairs down to his car, and bumped into a black robed man coming through the other way.

“Sorry,” Bryn said as he stepped out of the way.

“Dana Joseph,” the man creaked.

Bryn’s heart raced. The cloaked figure smelled of rotten meat and dirt, and his voice creaked like a rusty swing set. Bryn pointed down the hall with one shaky finger, then he raced down the steps the moment the other man disappeared.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Brand New Monster

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My first attempt at writing horror. WARNING – contains sexual content and some (hopefully) scary shit. You’ve been warned.

Challenge rules are here: Terrible Minds Brand New Monster Challenge

Alain stepped through the dense foliage and found her laying naked on the jungle floor. He unbuttoned his sweat-stained shirt and slid off his pants. He kneeled beside her and brushed his fingers across her chocolate skin, glistening with sweat after the long walk from the village.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his mouth tickling the curve of her ear as he spoke.

Alain’s pulse quickened as his eyes grazed on her body. He’d been trying to bed her since he’d arrived last month, and although she was the most beautiful woman in the village, he never saw her with a man. The other girls would flirt while they gathered food and cooked, but her eyes were always focused on her work, until this evening. His mission group hoisted the last of the hospital’s walls just before the jungle stole the remaining sunlight. After the celebratory feast, he saw her leaning against a tree with a wicked smile and a beckoning hand.

That hand was now in his hair, pulling his face towards hers. She slid her strong, lean legs around his midsection and flipped him onto his back. She licked a slow, deliberate path down his chest. She raised her head to catch his gaze and grinned, then resumed her descent with a muffled giggle.

Alain moaned watching the village woman work her magic. He closed his eyes when it became too much to bear, but instead of a release, his ecstasy continued to grow as spasms seized his body like a massive earthquake. He felt her body slide on top of him, pinning him down to the earth. His vision went white as their bodies rocked together, and a loud thrumming filled his head.

Two loud pops announced the end, along with a searing pain from behind his eye sockets. Another burning fire erupted from his groin. He tried to open his eyes, but there was nothing there, only darkness. His heart raced as he tried to shake free, but his body would not move. The thrumming noise grew louder.

Finally he was able to wrestle his hands free and bring them to his face. His fingers felt the smooth and slimy skin of a warm-blooded creature latched on to the upper half of his face. Tiny talons dug into his skin in an oval around his eyes, covering his forehead down to his nose, and from temple to temple. The skin of the creature undulated in time with the thrums, which seemed to be erupting from small holes along its body. He tried to pry it off his face, but the bond was too strong. His head swam and he tried to scream, but he could barely gather enough air in his lungs to breathe.

He felt the ground around his body in search of a weapon and discovered hard, spindly legs extending from the creature down into the soil, anchoring them both to the ground. Alain pounded the legs with his fist, and one by one they gave way, until finally only a few remained attached. Alain shoved at the creature but was unable to move it. He dug his fingers under the talons, tearing chunks of flesh from his face as he tried to break free. He heard a loud pop, and the pressure on his face was gone.

Alain raised his trembling hands to his head and surveyed the damage, unable to see anything but darkness. Blood rushed down his face from empty eye sockets, and the skin around his eyes was gone, only a few strands of sinewy muscle remained atop the bone. Alain’s screams came easily now, bouncing off the dense foliage of the jungle.

The thrumming grew even louder and a ferocious pain rippled through his body. Alain realized the creature was still attached to him. He reached down and felt it between his legs, covering everything below his navel, with his legs straddling its massive body. He began to kick at it with his feet as he pried it from his body. Another pop, an intense explosion of pain, and then Alain blacked out.

When Alain woke up in the hospital he helped build, the villagers were nowhere to be found. They had disappeared the night before, leaving behind the new hospital, empty thatched huts and a smoldering fire littered with bones from the feast.

Alain returned home with his mission group last weekend, and gave me this confession after I inquired about his injuries. I hope you share my concern for his well-being. My hope is that he can be admitted immediately in order to get the help he so desperately needs.

Father Jones

THE END

FYI – I was trying to find a picture of what this monster might look like, and this was the closest thing I could find:

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